


How To Make Friends (In Five Easy Steps)

by CactusMcYeehaw



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bernie and Hubert are Bros, Friendship, Hubert is Bad At Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing says I Love You like 'disposing of' your bestie's abusive dad, Past Child Abuse, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-27 10:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactusMcYeehaw/pseuds/CactusMcYeehaw
Summary: In order for the Empire to rise, those who hinder its growth must fall.After Hubert informs Bernadetta of her father's arrest, her unusual reaction leads to him learning of her past. Initially, his plan is merely to eliminate a threat. However, he did not expect to gain someone to call a friend from it.Especially not someone with wild, purple hair and a much too strong fight-or-flight instinct.





	1. Step 1: Catch Up

“Bernadetta, a word.”

Bernie was sure Hubert could see her life flashing before her eyes. It had been just over two days that they – that was, her old class and a considerable amount of former monastery staff – had set up base in the imperial building.

Everybody was busy making plans, organizing or just ordering their minds and she had not a doubt in hers that Hubert would be among those with the least time to spare, so for him to be seeking her out…

“Oh no… Whatever I did, please have mercy! I promise I’ll – ”

“Enough!” Hubert’s voice was amplified by its echo in the dark hall, and Bernie flinched. Hard. Seeing her frozen into place and silently sending every prayer she knew of up to the Goddess, Hubert sighed and pulled up two chairs. Chairs – where did he even _get_ chairs?

“This is concerning your father, Count Varley. Take a seat.”

It was as though Bernies muscles moved on Huberts comment instead her own and she did as told. She did not have a good feeling. Old news, truth be told, she never did, but any mention of _him_ made her stomach churn.

Had he heard of what she’d done? How she had turned against the church and left the monastery when it was her parents who had sent her there? Was this where Hubert would tell her that she’d been ordered home, or what if her father had finally decided he'd had enough and implored somebody to come execute her?

“Count Varley has been placed under house arrest for an indefinite amount of time for defying Her Majesty.”

Huh?

“Wha – what?” Bernie couldn’t have stopped the incredulous remark from escaping her if she’d wanted to. “He’s under arrest? Really? You’re not just saying that, right?”

Her sinking heart took a sharp turn upwards and went to soar. Could she dare to hope…?

Hubert, on the other hand, did decidedly not expect her response as it was. His mouth was pulled into that not-quite frown he wore on the rare occasion that he was lost on anything.

“I… beg your pardon, but you are quite surprisingly delighted.” Had he perhaps underestimated Bernadetta this whole time? She did not seem the type to hunger for power, but perhaps she did long to claim her father’s title somewhere under her many layers of anxiety and unmatched reclusiveness.

He told her as much, and her relieved expression morphed into a thoughtful one as she assured him that no, she harbored no such wishes (and quite frantically so).

Silence befell her for a moment in which she gazed at the empty air beside Hubert’s head and he already considered leaving her to it to get on with his many other tasks when she spoke, unusually careful this time.

“Well… I don’t think there’s any harm in letting one more person know…”

* * *

Hubert left immediately once Bernadetta had finished and went back to being her normal self, breaking into her never-ending stream of apologies again.

It finally dawned on him - how many of her odd behaviors and quirks were now brutally making _sense_ \- and oh, how that disgusted him. That low-life of a man was not fit for his name. His actions had gravely inconvenienced the Empire.

And although Hubert didn’t doubt that Bernadetta was taking the hurdle to the best of her ability, the fact remained that someone had deliberately placed it before her in hopes she might never overcome it. It had been to keep her caged.

The grimace Hubert bore on his face looked not unlike his normal expressions, but the feeling it had to it was different.

No – this could not stand. Hubert would be unworthy of his position if he did not act to ensure no more potential harm could come from that individual. Not to the Empire, not to the Emperor, and not to any of the Black Eagles.

And, Hubert thought with mild disbelief, not to Bernadetta.

It was wholly unlike him to be in any way affected by other people’s tragedies, and yet something did not bode well with him about the image of a young girl alone and tied to a chair. No, he decided as his steps resounded dull on the stone floor, it did not bode well in the slightest.

On his way to Her Majesty, he stopped briefly by the murky chamber turned makeshift-barracks of the Black Eagle Strike Force, placing down a candy he’d acquired from the blonde girl (he honestly didn’t know why she’d come along, devout as she was. He had his theories about spying and traitors, but he would have to set those aside. For now.)

He was out and gone down the hall before anyone could spot him in such an unsavory moment of _softness_. How shameful - he would need to rectify such a flaw.

This place had no doors on which to knock to announce his presence, and so he had to settle for the next best thing – bow and address her - his Emperor, he thought with a sense of pride. That was right, Edelgard was now his Emperor and as such he must be careful to only bother her with matters of the utmost importance, now more than ever.

She was, unsurprisingly, in discussion with the professor. They shot him the same knowing look he not-so-secretly despised them for, but retreated quickly. Hubert saw them making a beeline toward Berandetta in the far corner. Good.

“Your Majesty. There is something to discuss regarding the treatment of Count Varley. If you would hear my request.”

* * *

The following day, Hubert was nowhere to be found. Bernie first approached the professor on the matter, and then Edelgard. The professor had merely shrugged. Edelgard, whom Bernie had to gather up all her guts to talk to, had implored her to calm herself before informing her that Hubert was currently out for an ‘administrative task’ and would return in half a week at the latest.

While there were the usual worries Bernie could not get her mind to expel – _he looked so angry after I last talked to him, he disappeared right away, what if he decided I’m not worth the effort of keeping around, he must hate me now_ – Edelgard had let it slip that Hubert’s task had to do with eliminating a threat Bernie had helped bring to their attention.

She’d _thanked her_, and Bernie decided right then and there that this was enough nonsense for the day and excused herself to the barracks.

Oh well. At least someone had been kind enough to leave her a pastry, Mercedes by the looks of the signed little note telling her to eat.

Maybe betraying the Church, turning on her father and royally fucking up everything wasn’t the worst thing in the world for now.


	2. Step 2: Shared Hobbies Give You Time To Spend Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some wool can work wonders on restless nights.

Count Varley was trembling with his back pressed to the wall, eyes wide as saucers and apologies streaming from his mouth like they usually do from hers. So that was where the two of them were related. Bernie remained silent with her arrow pointed at him.

_Chest, throat, or through the eye?_

“Daughter, stop this nonsense! Please, somebody – !”

The string was pulled far back and he was close enough. She’d fired shorter distances against enemies in battle garb. She’d seen the damage.

“Say goodbye, Bernie,” came a singsong voice from somewhere.

Calmly, she let go.

* * *

Bernie didn’t awaken with a scream or even just a start, and that was her whole problem.

She had felt nothing but gratitude when she was told of _his_ execution. He did not tell her directly, but Bernie had put the pieces of Hubert’s sudden absence and her talk with Edelgard long ago together. She knew Hubert killed him.

And somehow, the thought made being around him easier.

And that, in turn, was her whole problem, wasn’t it? That was why she was walking down to the common area in the dead of night rather than just rolling over and going back to sleep.

Bernadetta von Varley, terrified of getting killed and yet she’d taken countless name-and faceless lives (they weren’t name- or faceless. Someone would have buried and grieved for them somewhere, even for a lowly bandit, but she couldn’t bear to face the thought).

She always second-guessed her allies’ intentions and opinions on her, always thought she had done something wrong to anger them, and yet she felt no remorse knowing her venting had, one way or the other, lead to her own father’s death.

And instead of mourning, or considering whatever good traits he may have had that she didn’t see, she felt safer around his killer. She just could not make herself regret.

“Oh, Bernie. What’s gotten into you?” she quietly asked herself. Thinking of Hubert as a “killer” made her feel queasy. It wasn't a kind word, and yet it applied to everybody here, without fail.

Edelgard, Caspar, Ferdinand, even herself!

Hubert had drawn his fair share of blood, too, and he made no secret of it.

Bernie hated this. Whenever somebody close to you died, no matter what your relationship had been, you _mourned_, right? Sylvain had mourned Miklan without ever denying that he was, in his own words, a piece of garbage.

Some of her classmates mourned family members they hadn’t gotten along with who’d fallen over the past year, too. Bernie herself mourned the professor with them, so that meant she _could_ grieve.

(This war had taken so much from them already, she realized with startling clarity.)

But at the same time, why should she grieve? This man had single-handedly destroyed what could have been her life as a child, and instead of simply being _glad_ she could breathe freely now, she felt guilty for it.

Grumbling, she sank into the armchair by the hearth and set her yarn before her on the table. Why her?

Suddenly, she remembered. The last day of the Lone Moon. Today was the anniversary of _his_ death.

The last straw that broke the wyvern’s back.

“Oh, come on! Why can’t you leave poor Bernie be! Haven’t you taken enough from me?!”

“If I bothered you so, you could have told me that before, don’t you think?”

Bernie’s head snapped around fast enough to give a lesser being whiplash. “Hubert!” Lo and behold, there he was, in all his glory, blocking the doorway clad in his nightclothes. Then settled the realization that oh, he heard her.

“Oh – oh no, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t talking to you, s – so could you please forget you heard anything? Alright? Alright! Good night!”

Before Hubert could say anything, Bernie ducked under his arm and bolted into the hallway, dead-set to lock herself in her room for the rest of the night.

“Why did you think that was a good idea, Bernie? Oh, why did I have to go and mess up again? Stupid, stupid, stupid – ”

* * *

After those humiliating events, Bernie thought she’d at least have peace in her room if nothing else. At some point she’d noticed she forgot her knitting utensils back in the common room – those would have to be a sacrifice, then. No way was she opening the door again. Ever.

To her horror, a mere minute later sounded a quiet, but unmistakably a knocking on her door, causing all her thoughts to freeze in their tracks.

‘_Think, Bernie, think!’ _

Could she perhaps feign sleep?

“Bernadetta, I know you’re awake.” Hubert’s deadpan voice carried through the wooden shield protecting Bernie from the dangers of society.

Alas, the Goddess had forsaken her. This must be her punishment for siding against the Church, she just knew it!

Regretting every last one of her life decisions, she hissed, “No, I’m not!” through the door. “Go away!”

Silence. Footsteps on the cold stone ground. Bernie idly recalled Hubert not wearing more than a pair of socks. He didn’t come out here in the winter underdressed like that, did he?

“Bernadetta von Varley, do you wish to find out just what Dark Spikes T can do if unleashed upon a door?”

Bernie did _not_. Caspar had broken her door _once_, and she was not about to risk having to have it repaired yet again.

Flitting over, she hastily unlocked her door and cracked it open. Hubert made a show of snapping his spellbook closed.

“I’m glad you see… _Reason_, to say the least.” He had the _audacity_ to chuckle, and Bernie couldn’t decide what was worse, the laugh or the joke.

Bernie nearly slammed the door shut again right then and there, consequences be damned, but Hubert quickly stuck his hand through the crack, holding…

“Is that my sweater?”

“’Sweater’ is a bit of a bold description.”

“Hey! It’s just not done yet!”

Hubert threw the not-yet-garment another look, mildly fascinated by the intricate stitches it was made out of. A cold gust of wind blew through, making them both shiver (though Hubert hid it well).

Bernie felt a pang of guilt at having made him come here in the first place, so she did the best she could think of.

Stepping aside, she pulled the door open wide enough to let Hubert inside. When he didn’t move at first, opting to just… stare, Bernie shot out and started pushing him forward. “It’s gonna get cold in here if you just keep standing there, you know!”

And with that, the door fell shut behind them. Hubert looked, by Hubert-von-don’t-show-weakness-Vestra standards, confused. “Was there something you needed me for?”

Bernie was about to launch herself into another anxiety-induced apology when she noticed a key factor.

“What _are_ you doing up at this time, anyway?” No answer came at first, and Bernie barely gave him time to think of one. “I mean, I get that you act like some fearsome, live-in-the-night sort of vampire, but I’m pretty sure you do go to sleep when Edelgard does, right? And you’re always out and about during the day. So why?”

True to that statement, there were deep bags under his eyes, now that she was actually looking at his face.

Hubert tensed up then, barely noticeable, but he held himself straighter. “I’m afraid that is classified information. In other words, none of your concern.”

Bernie had her fair share of nightmares to have a clue as to what she was dealing with here. She’d also been around Hubert, more or less out of her free will, for two years. Of course he wouldn’t talk about such things. If she were honest, she wouldn’t make the best listener even if he did. Who knew what could be atrocious enough to give _the_ Hubert von “Scarier Than Thou” Vestra nightmares?

There was _something_ she could do, though.

“Sit over there.” She motioned toward her unmade bed and went to rummage through her drawers. A little “Aha!” signaled she’d found what she sought, and eventually, Bernie turned around with another ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles.

She plopped herself down with some space between them and placed the items in his lap.

“Say, do you know how to knit?”

She should keep a mental list of how many times she could make Hubert look like she’d grown a second head because she thought she might have broken a record of some sort.

“I beg your pardon?”

Bernie took her own needles and almost-sweater, demonstrating how to hold them. “Knitting helps me whenever I can’t sleep.” she said calmly. That had to be a first. “I find the repetitive motions relaxing. Plus I get something nice and warm out of it.”

With that, she gestured over to a number of hats, gloves and socks neatly folded on her desk.

Hubert sighed. “I’m not having any trouble sleeping. I _chose_ to be awake right now. There is no need to waste both our time.”

Bernie shot him a look. “It’s not a waste of time if it helps someone, right? Just… see it like, you’re helping me, for example. I can’t sleep right now, and you need a break every now and then. You’ll get all stressed, otherwise, and then you’re more likely to mess up.”

Resigned, Hubert held up his hands in surrender. He’d finally come to accept that there was no reasoning with Bernadetta. “Fine, I shall humor you then. But only until I must return to my duty. Now, if you wouldn’t mind showing me how to begin?”

Bernie _grinned_.

“Sure thing! I promise you won’t regret it! First, you take the thread and make a loop between…”

* * *

Hubert never did leave in pursuit of his alleged duties. The sun was just beginning to rise above the far horizon, and Bernie peered up from her own work to find Hubert asleep with the messy beginnings of what might be a scarf on his chest. For a brief moment, Bernie considered waking him – would he be angry at her for making him miss his work? - but she just couldn’t make herself do it. He looked… relaxed, without his permafrown and furrowed brow.

It was still Count Varley’s death day. She’d nearly forgotten about that, and that alone did make her feel a little giddy. Yeah, maybe one day, she could put him behind her altogether. Until then, well, she supposed she’d keep knitting.

Bernie yawned. She would sleep later today, she decided. Now though, she quietly stole herself out the door to fetch her breakfast.

And well. Maybe bring some for Hubert, too.

Oh, and she'd have to buy new yarn.


	3. If Misunderstandings Arise, Be Sure To Clear Them Up

“That’s what friends are for!”

One sentence was rarely enough to plunge someone into an existencial crisis. Particularly if said someone had spent their whole life, from the moment they could walk, striving to live up to expectations and succeeding at it, always knowing their and their enemy’s next move.

Fate had a twisted sense of humor, because this one sentence sliced Hubert’s entire perception of – well, _everything_ might have been a stark exaggeration, but how else was he to put it? – sliced it clean into a thousand tiny pieces.

For the first time in his life, he’d been speechless with not even a request of elaboration left on his tongue. Frozen, that’s what he’d done, and then, as though his pathetic slip of mind had not been humiliation enough, he’d fled – not quite head over heels, but he’d barely managed to excuse himself and walk away at the fastest he could before it would be counted as “running”.

Now, here he was, sharing a meal with Ferdinand, of all people, with whom he had a brittle agreement of something resembling a truce.

That meant working together without fighting each other at every turn, or simply tolerating the other’s existence at varying levels of “begrudging”.

It should have been perfectly reasonable for Hubert to remain quiet and eat, all things considered. But, Goddess knew how, something must have been off about his silence.

“Are you quite alright? You’re not acting like your usual self around me.”

Hubert sneered. “And what is that to mean? I do not recall our sparse, and might I add rather one-sided, conversations to result in much.”

At that, Ferdinand frowned. “I actually did think they resulted in something. You’re not nearly as hostile toward me as you were back in our school days. Look, even now you agreed to eat with me when I asked, which the old you certainly would have refused!”

His frown deepened. “But what I meant just now was the aura you radiate.”

“It appears your mind is even less in one place than I thought if you cannot even remember that _Aura_ is a Faith spell and thus not one at my disposal.”

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

Of course Hubert did, but for some reason, he needed to stall.

“Do not try to change the topic. I’m saying, yesterday you were the same as always, but now you’ve been staring at your soup and always just nod long to whatever I’m saying! You didn’t even notice when I said coffee tasted disgusting!”

Hubert squinted at him. “You were testing me.” It wasn’t said without a hint of displeasure.

“The point I’m getting to is,” Ferdinand didn’t even react, “that something must have happened to set you off, and that quite recently. I daresay it may have to do with Bernadetta.”

Hubert choked on his coffee. Why did he decide to drink it at a time like this.

“Aha!” Ferdinand shouted triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “My guess was correct!”

In the midst of a violent coughing fit, Hubert couldn’t get a single word out, and Ferdinand wound up hitting him on the back a bit too hard in his euphoric rush.

“What – in the name of _hell_ – do you mean by – ‘_guess_’?!” He spat out the last word with absolute disgust.

If nothing good could otherwise be said about him, Ferdinand had at least the courtesy to wait for Hubert to catch his breath.

“Well, guess is maybe not the right word,” he explained, sounding apologetic. “It’s just that when I spoke to Bernadetta earlier, she was quite upset. All she said to me was that she had messed something up, and that you were probably furious with her before she ran away. And now with you acting like you do, I have not a single doubt in mind that she may have actually done something to unsettle you.”

He finished with a flourish before hunching over on the table with an air of something Hubert couldn’t put a name to.

Hubert, meanwhile, got a cold, sinking feeling. He’d run off with barely a word nor reason. Of course he’d upset Bernadetta, but that was… that had not been his intention.

With a mild shock came the realization that he didn’t want to hurt her.

Unbidden images rose from the depths of his mind, of that night that now seemed like such a long time ago. Of Count Varley, that vermin, cowering before Hubert and pleading for his life, and of the deep satisfaction as he lay dying on the ground.

Of how he’d reasoned he did it all for the Empire.

How Hubert had lied to himself.

“Well, would you mind telling me what it is that plagues you so?”

The fog of his brain made space for Ferdinand’s obnoxious voice.

Miraculously, Hubert found it in himself to scoff at that frankly ridiculous request. Like Ferdinand was anything close to a confidant.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because,” Ferdinand said as though he’d prepared for this exact scenario, “it would be a terrible shame for you and Bernadetta’s friendship to break like this.”

Friendship.

_Friendship._

‘_That’s what friends are for!’_, sounded Bernadetta’s voice inside his head, bright and clear.

“Friends?” he echoed his own thoughts.

“Uhm… yes? You and her are friends, are you not? Why are you surprised?”

A part of his mind protested. He didn’t have – _couldn’t _have friends. His purpose was to dedicate his life to Edelgard von Hresvelg, but he did so as her vassal. He had done everything he could for this one person without ever daring to call himself her friend. He could simply not afford to waste any of his time on bonds with anybody else – and yet.

And yet.

Was it not Bernadetta whom he had in mind on his way to Count Varley’s estate? Was it not her for whom he’d gone out of his way to request not only his execution, but that he’d see to it himself?

His fingers traced over the embroidered flower she’d made for him moons ago. Edelgard didn’t need Bernadetta to be less scared of Hubert – in fact, would it not benefit her if everybody feared him like she did, to reduce the chances of her own allies turning on her?

No, Hubert realized. And, _oh_, how in the world was he only doing so now?

Bernadetta was such a scaredy cat. It took a great deal of trust for her to willingly engage you, and yet she’d decided it was fine by her to tell Hubert of her father’s abuse. She hadn’t chased him away when he’d come to her room in the dead of night, but she’d let him in and taught him to knit.

And just now, when he’d attempted to figure out how to best tend to the large, horrendous stinking plant after being put on greenhouse duty for no sensible reason, Bernadetta had offered advice upon walking in on his misery, rather than fleeing the scene.

And when he’d thanked her for her help, as though it slipped from her before she could stop it, she had told him _that’s what friends are for_.

Hubert von Vestra, the man who was supposed to have his eyes and ears everywhere, had been a complete and utter fool.

Bernadetta thought of him as someone to call a friend.

And he’d bolted when she told him so.

“Thank you, Ferdinand.” he said, stood abruptly, and vacated the dining hall. He had somewhere to be, right now.

“Ah, you’re most welcome! … But what just happened?”

* * *

A good thing about Bernadetta von Varley was that she was easy to find even if she was so often hiding.

Hubert knocked on her door twice and loudly enough for her to hear, although he got no reply. It was to be expected, he supposed.

After he’d repeated two more times, he began to wonder if she was in her room at all, in which case he would surely look ridiculous standing here. He groaned, pressing his fingers to his temple.

Of course Bernadetta was not going to answer. She knew his knock, and so maybe she was trying to make him leave by pretending she was absent.

So, he had to go for another approach. He cleared his throat.

“Bernadetta, I’ve come to… apologize for the way I behaved earlier. I’m admittedly not the best at this. At any of this, and by that I mean – well, what you said earlier. I suppose it is no secret, but the way I was raised did not allow for friendships. I suppose we are similar in that aspect.”

Still, not a sound behind the door. Perhaps she was really not there, and he would be found out here pouring his heart out to a door. He glanced around – and thankfully found the coast clear still.

“I’ll admit for that reason it never crossed my mind to think of anybody as anything closer than a mere ally, so to hear you call yourself my…” he hesitated. How could it be so difficult to say a single word?

“Well, to hear you refer to us as friends. You surprised me, and I handled it in a frankly unbecoming way. And I’m sorry I did that, and… you should not trouble yourself further with the likes of me.”

The door remained silent, like the inanimate object it was. If anything, Hubert had gotten it out of his system, even if he regretted that this was probably the end. He idly thought of his half-finished scarf in his room, and realized not without a heavy heart that he’d need to find a point at which to quietly return the knitting needles –

“I wouldn’t mind troubling myself with you.”

Whirling around with a horrible start, Hubert found himself faced with a sheepish-looking Bernadetta. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but her voice didn’t waver.

“I thought you were offended because I wanted to be friends with you. I… I’m sorry. Heh, look at us both apologizing. Edelgard was right, I shouldn’t just assume the worst.”

Edelgard had told her that? She’d never spoken of such a thing to him, but… well, it hardly mattered.

Hubert felt like he had to say something, so he went with “How much have you heard of what I just said?”

She blinked owlishly. “From the start, I guess. Point is, you and I are both new to this whole friendship thing.” Nervousness began to seep back into her stance and she suddenly found her boots very interesting. “S – so, if you wouldn’t mind, of course, maybe we could still…?”

He considered for a moment, but really he’d had his answer to this question for a long, long time now. And he could finally release the breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding.

“Yes. I think I’d like to give friendship a try.”

Like she had not been expecting this answer, Bernadetta’s head snapped up. “Really? You mean it?! Great!”

The light in her eyes shone brighter than Hubert had ever seen, and knowing it was because she was happy he’d said what he did… it made him happy. Yeah, that was the word he couldn’t name before. Huh. Happy. Friends. Of course he knew the meaning of those words from books read in the faraway years of his childhood, by candlelight and in the dead of night.

To think he’d experience them. He huffed in amusement.

And then his stomach made a pitiful growling noise. He remembered his abandoned lunch.

Bernadetta took notice. “I’m starving, aren’t you too?”

Hubert nodded. If there was the tiniest smile on his lips, Bernadetta did not mention it. “We should go to the dining hall, then. I hear they’re serving two-fish saute today.”

If possible, Bernadetta lightened up even more at the mention of food. “Oh, that’s my favorite! Quick, before it’s all gone!”

She began to run ahead, Hubert following at a deliberately slower pace to think.

Sharing lunch with Bernadetta, huh? It would certainly not be the first time, but to do so without being strung along by the professor… he could almost imagine he were merely a normal person, enjoying the company of a friend.

And it may be shameful, or maybe not, but this feeling was one he could get used to one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please feel free to offer comments to sustain my power/motivation!
> 
> I'm just incredibly Soft(TM) for Bernie and Hubert and I wish we had more of their friendship


End file.
